


Green and Red Hats

by careforacuppatea



Category: Moominvalley (Cartoon 2019), Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson, 新ムーミン | Shin Moomin (Anime 1972), 楽しいムーミン一家 | Moomin (Anime 1990)
Genre: Daddy Issues, Father-Son Relationship, Father/Son Incest, Fluff, Gen, Implied/Referenced Incest, Incest, M/M, Short & Sweet, Short One Shot, Some angst, Tumblr request, honestly can be platonic or romantic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-14 10:39:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19271560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/careforacuppatea/pseuds/careforacuppatea
Summary: While spending some quality time together, in a secluded place fishin' and lazin' about, Joxter brings up some history and meaning in regards to Snufkin's hat.





	Green and Red Hats

**Author's Note:**

> Snufkin is at least 16/17, and at most 18/19.

“You know, I’m the one who gave you that hat,” Joxter suddenly said, breaking the peaceful silence between him and his son Snufkin. The two were out fishing that late afternoon, at a place only Joxter seemed to know, far away from prying Moomin-kind eyes. As time went, the two decided to stick their poles into the ground and simply laze about and quietly enjoy each other’s company.

Laying down on his back, Snufkin had to lift his hat up and back just so he could look over at his father, blinking as his eyes readjusted to the afternoon sunshine. Joxter sat maybe a foot from Snufkin, knees brought to his chest, and the man was puffing away at his old wooden pipe. Snufkin followed the purplish-grey plum of smoke swirl around his father’s own red hat, and watching as the smoke drifted up into the blue sky, Joxter continued, “Before I left—had to leave, I had gone and made a hat, yes made indeed, for you—and gave it to your mother, for her to then give to you.”

Snufkin’s soft brown eyes fell back to Joxter’s face, so unsure of what to say to what his father is telling him, but he didn’t want his father to stop as it was rare for the old Mumrik to talk about the past, specifically in regards to his mother and him just going off and not coming back. “I didn’t know,” was all Snufkin could say, slowly sitting himself up. Joxter watched his son’s movements from the corner of his eye, taking the tip of the pipe out of his mouth, smoke flowing out as he said, “I don’t blame your mother for not telling you.” Snufkin watched as his father placed the pipe back between his lips, spread his legs out before him and stretch– the old Mumrik’s face rather unreadable.

Quietly, Snufkin took his hat off and held it right in front of him, and slowly began examining it—curiously, Joxter glanced over to watch, about to ask what the boy was doing, when Snufkin looked back up to him and said, “Switch me.” Now Joxter showed some emotion on that worn face, surprised, then confused, arching a dark eyebrow as his eyes shot up to look at his own weathered and red hat. “Just, humor me papa,” Snufkin said, a soft smile playing on his lips.

Bright blue eyes gazing back at Snufkin shown with curiosity, and with a huff, Joxter reached up and took off his red hat, using the other hand to ruffle the top of his head, fingers combing through the dark locks. Joxter and Snufkin then switched hats, Snufkin with his father’s red hat, and Joxter with his son’s grassy green one.

Joxter simply held Snufkin’s hat in his lap as he watched with piqued interest what his son was exactly doing. Snufkin gingerly held his father’s red hat in his hands, eyes a big brighter, awake, as he began studying it, turning it this way and that way. First, Snufkin noted the piece of rope that was secured around the crown of the tall hat, gently running his fingertips over it, surprised that it was rather soft, perhaps due to wear. Obviously, the color still held strong, just as deep and red as if it was a brand-new hat—obviously Joxter did take care of some things, and this was one of those things. The material was soft, his own had to have been made from the same material figured, and when he turned the hat over to look inside, he noticed something that made him smile. “Yours has a little tag near the lining of the inside, just like mine,” Snufkin said, sounding almost like an excited kid.

Joxter just blinked at this, pipe hanging loosely from his lips—grabbing Snufkin’s hat, Joxter turned it over as well and examined the inside, and when he found the tag Snufkin was talking about, he also couldn’t contain a soft smile. “While mine may say simply  _Joxaren_ , yours was inscribed with something a bit more… _personal_ ,” Joxter commented, a shy expression falling over his face as he read the small writing on the tab inside Snufkin’s hat. “ _Darling son, a gift for you_ —Snufkin,” Joxter read aloud, face heating up and glowering at his son from under his thick locks when he noticed the boy covering his mouth to laugh to himself.

“Ah, so, you weren’t lying,” Snufkin said, dropping his hand from his mouth and giving a playful crooked smile at his father. Joxter only continued to glower up at his son, pipe moving to the other side of his mouth, before taking a large puff from it and breathing out plums of smoke from his mouth and nose. “I do not lie, boy—I simply…  _withhold_  the truth from time to time,” the Joxter replied, and while Snufkin gave him an incredulous look, Joxter’s glower turned playful, a smile tugging at his lips, though he kept his face rather neutral. “I wouldn’t lie about something like this, Snufkin,” Joxter said, voice gentle, barely above a whisper as he gazed down at the green hat in his lap. Snufkin stared at his father, once more not sure what to say, but he knew what he felt—he felt, well, he felt suddenly loved by his father. It was silly, he knew, that all it took was a hat that had been given to him when he was but a child, to get him to finally accept the hope that his father truly did love him, and perhaps even loved him before he was born.

Afraid that he’d end up crying from all these nonsensical emotions he was suddenly inflicted with—Snufkin took hold of the red hat, and falling onto his back, Snufkin placed the hat over his eyes, and let a soft sigh leave his lips. A calming sensation came over him and his mind slowed down as the scent of his father overtook him.

Joxter watched his son, fascinated, and while he’d never exactly allowed others to wear his hat, he almost found it cute, in a strange way, to see his Snufkin lounging, wearing his hat. So he allowed it, and gently chuckling to himself, placed Snufkin’s hat atop his own head.

There he sat, smoking his pipe and gazing out into the lake, not at all bothered by the fact their fishing lines never caught a bite.


End file.
